Monsters are Made, not Born
by Vlad Dracula - the Monster
Summary: 600 years after Vlad's defeat of the Turks, he meets a mysterious woman who reminds him of his long-dead wife, Mirena. The trouble that ensues, involving the Wizarding World and the so-called Dark Lord, leads him to believe that she is more than meets the eye. AU for both worlds, bits of Bram Stoker in there as well.


If I could breath, I would have choked. There She was- my Mirena. In my mind, I knew it was impossible; and yet, She stood before me. Alive. She stood at a stall in the open market, like any other civilian.

'It cannot be Her,' I thought. 'I watched Her die, in my very own arms. This vision before me is just that, a vision. It cannot be allowed to distort my memory of Her...'

Then, She smiled.

Like the entire world had come crashing down around me, I could not help myself- I stared. The look in her eyes, the way her left eyebrow rose when she grinned, as if she knew something I did not... It was quite nearly identical to my long-dead wife. There was but one way to know for certain.

I approached the stall she was at, pretending to browse the vendor's wares. "What could a beautiful woman like you be doing in a place like this?" I asked. The sort of line Mirena would never have fallen for, but it seemed to be popular in this day and age.

As predicted, I could see the disgust in her eyes, the almost aristocratic sneer on her lips. Her reply came quick and sharp, "And who are you to say where I should be?"

I smiled. Her accent was upper-class New York, but it was tainted by a slight Western drawl. "Apologies, my lady. I had not intended to offend you. Might I ask what book you are reading?" Obviously an attempt to mislead her, to distract her. Perhaps...?

"It is none of your business, but I suppose I shall tell you. It is The Monster, by a Romanian lord named Ingeras," she obliges me. "He lived several centuries ago, yet his works always brings me a sense of familiarity." Here she frowns, as though puzzling some long-forgotten riddle.

I smirked, recognizing the book my son had written. One of several. He painted me the hero, and labeled me a monster. Now, for the final test. I could only hope... no, I could not even do that. To hope is to bring about despair. I had had enough of despair in that first century. That first long, lonely century. I would only try this one last test, as I had tested all the other women who reminded me of Her.

"Would you be so kind as to tell me your name?" I asked disarmingly.

That time, it was her turn to smirk. "My name is Mina; and yours?"

"Vlad," I replied. "Just Vlad."

She payed for her book, and turned to leave. "Well, it was nice to meet you, 'Just Vlad'. Have a nice day." I could only watch as she began to walk away.

"No! Please..." Never had I been reduced to such pleas by a mere woman, save for my wife. My late wife. She turned around, looking at me warily now. "Have you ever heard that death cannot separate us, for one life-"

"is born from the other," she finished, and smiled. "That's my favorite poem. Where'd you find it? I can't even remember where I read it, but I can't seem to get it out of my head."

I closed the distance between us and whispered, "I wrote it."

* * *

><p>To say that she had not believed me would be an understatement. She had struck me, using the back of her hand, as if I were some leper that dared look upon her on the street.<p>

"How dare you," she accused. "I know that that poem is at least 500 years old. I did not expect any answer, let alone an untruthful one. Why not just say you don't know? Never mind. Good day to you sir." She stalked off in a huff. I turned and left; I could not afford to stay in any place where I had attracted that much attention.

And I had had such high hopes for her, too.

* * *

><p>Alone in my apartment later that evening, I shed my overcoat. Picking the mail up off of the floor, I made my way to the kitchen. I didn't use it for much, except storing blood that I bribed managers at the local blood banks to sell me. I was not as able to hunt as I was in bygone days; people would notice if too many of their fellows went missing. Even criminals had friends, friends who would miss them if they disappeared.<p>

I had no one.

Placing the bills in one stack, I threw out the junk mail. I had also received a letter from a Dr. Harker, who studied Romanian history. I had mailed the good doctor one day, inquiring about some artifacts she had received from what she said was "Castle Dracula". I had wondered at their authenticity, but was interested nonetheless in the artifacts, since I had left much behind when I was chased from my home. My mortal bloodline had died out after Ingeras' great-grandson had set out to seek his fortune, and never returned. For years, I was the only inhabitant of the once thriving Castle Dracula. It saddened me to see the ruins my home had become.

I opened the letter using the letter opener Dr. Harker had sent me, which had turned out to be the dagger my father had given to me when I was but a boy, the very same blade I had given my son after his coronation. After all, a vampire cannot rule a nation.

I smiled in rememberance as I read the letter, but my smile quickly turned sour. Dr. Harker had invited me to a gala in Los Angeles, California, in which she said that she would be showcasing many of the artifacts they had recovered from the abandoned castle. I did not like the thought of my family's secrets being displayed for the world to see. I went to the refridgerator, which is an extremely useful device, and opened up a bag of O negative. Rather hard to get, but it has a peculiar sweetness to it that I find comforting. Obviously, I had to go to the gala. It would be held in the Ritz Carlton in three days time.

I filled a goblet to the brim with the blood. I pondered my quandary as I sipped at my breakfast. Should I go, wait until dark, and retrieve my family's heirlooms? Or shall I stay, and enjoy the relative peace that I had acquired in New York? I had enough wealth to only have to work every century or so. I would make my fortune, spend it over a lifetime, and then make another one. I did not have to steal back these treasures. My honour, however, said otherwise. I drained the last of the blood from my goblet.

I would leave for the City of Angels on the morrow.


End file.
